


Sold My Soul To A Three-Piece

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Multi, Some pining, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac starts a game of Spin The Bottle to try to get the Triumvirate to kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sold My Soul To A Three-Piece

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Hold Me Down" by Halsey.

Courfeyrac is on a mission.

He's at Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment, with all of the rest of Les Amis, at the end of the winter semester. Courfeyrac planned the party there, since his and Marius’s apartment isn’t big enough for this kind of shindig. Everyone’s exams are over, and they’re all a little drunk on Christmas spirit and _actual_ spirits. It’s ten-thirty at night, and everyone’s still in the tipsy stage of the evening, drunk enough to want to do something stupid but not drunk enough to cry about it after. Courfeyrac knows that now is the time to make his move.

He grabs an empty wine bottle – which he’s a little worried that Grantaire might have emptied all by himself – from the counter, holds it above his head, and yells:

“Who wants to play Spin The Bottle?!”

And, because this must be Courf’s lucky day, nobody objects.

Five minutes later, everyone’s drink refreshed, they’re sitting in a circle on the floor, the coffee table cleared out of the way.

“The rules are simple,” Courf says, though everyone already knows the rules. “You spin, the bottle points to someone, and the two of you have to kiss. If the bottle doesn’t make a full revolution, you spin again.”

“What kind of kiss?” Feuilly pipes up.

“At least five seconds, open mouth,” Courf replies instantly. “Tongue optional.”

“Can we add a fourth rule?” Joly asks. “The person who is chosen by the bottle doesn’t spin again. The person to their right spins the next turn instead.”

Courf furrows his brow, not understanding.

“So, for example,” Joly explains, “if I were to spin and get Enjolras” – Enjolras looks flattered at being chosen for this example scenario – “we would kiss, but then you would spin next, since you’re sitting on Enjolras’s right.”

“What’s the point of that?” Bahorel asks.

“It’s because he’s scared of the germs,” Grantaire says knowingly, and everyone laughs.

“What?!” Joly shouts defensively. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like getting mono from this! I know we’re all going to get someone’s sloppy seconds, but they can at least take a drink and rinse their mouth out in between!”

“Oh, please,” Musichetta says, rolling her eyes. “You get my sloppy seconds with Bossuet all the time and you don’t seem to mind!”

“Okay, that is way too much information,” Combeferre says.

“Seriously, so much more than I ever wanted to know,” echoes Eponine.

“Alright, alright,” Courf says, desperate to get them all to shut up and start playing, “we’ll use Joly’s rule. Does anyone else have anything to add?” Thankfully, there’s silence.

“Good. I’ll start,” Courf says, grabbing for the bottle. He’s getting excited now.

He spins with a flourish, and the bottle turns around three times before landing on Jehan. Jehan smiles.

 _Not bad,_ Courf thinks, _though not what I was going for._

Still, Courfeyrac has never been one to turn down a kiss, especially from someone as cute as Jehan. They both lean awkwardly across the circle and meet each other at the mouth.

“Good,” Courf says after. “Very good. Very… poetic.” Jehan just blushes.

“Right, so, your turn, Bahorel,” Courfeyrac says, because Bahorel’s seated to Jehan’s right. Bahorel spins, and the bottle lands on Combeferre. It’s an awkward kiss, Bahorel unable to stop laughing throughout the entire thing at just how incompatible they are. Combeferre agrees.

Musichetta is next to Combeferre, and she spins Cosette.

“It’s a testament to how gay most of the people in this room are that no one’s making this weird,” Jehan says, as the two girls kiss sweetly. Marius coughs.

Bossuet is next, and he spins Grantaire, and the two of them make a ridiculous production of the whole thing, rolling around on the floor, Grantaire theatrically running his hands through Bossuet’s non-existent hair. Joly follows, actually spinning Enjolras. Enjolras seems shocked when Joly kisses him, his eyes flying wide open, but then he relaxes into it, and seems a little dazed when Joly pulls away.

Courfeyrac just watches them all with wonder. He cannot believe that a) he actually convinced his friends to do this, or b) that they seem to be enjoying it. Every kiss is met with cheers or laughter or “awwwwws.” Courf prays to whatever gods are listening that the spell lasts long enough that he’ll get to set his plan in motion.

“Courf, it’s your turn again,” Enjolras is saying.

Courfeyrac spins again, and doesn’t get either of the results he wanted. Instead, he gets Marius.

“Come here, Pontmercy,” he purrs seductively, taking his time to crawl across the floor towards Marius, putting on a show. In the end, Courfeyrac pounces on him and tickles him while he kisses, leaving Marius shrieking and giggling. The kiss earns them a round of applause, Cosette clapping the loudest.

Cosette’s next to him though, which means it’s her turn, and when she spins Enjolras, Marius’s expression turns from giggly to faintly murderous. Still, it’s a very innocent kiss, neither of them looking like they’ve enjoyed it very much.

That means it’s Courfeyrac’s turn _again_ , but _still_ this time he doesn’t get what he wants, spinning Bahorel and getting a pleasant but altogether disappointing kiss because those he’s pining for just aren’t coming his way.

Eponine spins Feuilly, which is the most sensual kiss so far, both of them looking incredibly awkward when they’re done, like they might have enjoyed it a little too much. Then Grantaire spins and gets Eponine again, and there’s nothing sensual about that. They try and outdo the show Grantaire put on with Bossuet, Grantaire standing them both up and then dipping Eponine to the ground to kiss her.

Feuilly has to go again, and he spins Combeferre, which is, as Grantaire puts it, “like watching two dads make out.”

Then Musichetta spins Bossuet, but they don’t want to kiss without Joly, so they pull him in with them, and that’s how the spell breaks. Nobody wants to watch an actual couple – or triad – make out, and everyone’s drinks needs refilling by then, so the circle dissolves along with any hope Courfeyrac had of getting what he wanted out of the evening.

He wants to yell that they can’t stop the game yet, since he hasn’t gotten to kiss either Enjolras or Combeferre yet, nor succeeded in getting them to kiss each other. But it’s hardly something you can just say, even though it’s all Courfeyrac wants, for the three of them to really be together. Apparently, this wasn’t his lucky night after all.

The party winds down after a couple hours, people heading back to their respective apartments. Courfeyrac had already called dibs on Enjolras and Combeferre’s couch, thinking he’d be too drunk to walk home, but he’s hardly had anything to drink since the game started. Still, he figures he’s already promised Marius and Cosette the apartment to themselves for the night, so he might as well honour his word.

By one in the morning, everyone’s gone but the three of them. Courfeyrac helps Enjolras and Combeferre put the empty bottles into a garbage bag. The two of them seem completely sober, too, though that’s not exactly surprising given how little they usually drink.

“I cannot believe you talked us into playing Spin the Bottle like a bunch of teenagers,” Combeferre says, once they’ve cleared away the last of the mess and changed into pajamas.

“It was fun!” Courf protests.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Enjolras says. “I think Marius might actually be planning to kill me.”

“You could take Marius in a fight any day,” Courf says peaceably.

They look so sweet, Courf thinks, the objects of his affection standing in front of him in silly Christmas pajamas, that he has to give this one more try before the night is over.

“You know, it’s funny,” he says, trying not to be obvious. “None of the three of us got to kiss each other tonight.”

They both look at him, Enjolras’s face turning just the slightest bit red, and Combeferre’s eyes widening, and Courfeyrac knows he has them.

“You’d just think that, statistically, it would have been bound to happen,” he says casually.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says slowly. “You would think so.”

“Maybe we should just do it,” Combeferre finally blurts out, and Courfeyrac is so grateful it’s hard to let him finish his sentence without kissing him right then and there. “You know, for… science.”

“For science,” Enjolras echoes.

They both turn to Courfeyrac again – understandably, because this was his orchestration – but he finds himself suddenly shy.

“You two start,” he says, and because Courfeyrac’s luck never really left him after all, they do.

Courfeyrac’s positive that the two of them have never kissed each other before, but Enjolras and Combeferre come together like they’ve been doing this for years. Enjolras brings his hands up to Combeferre’s face, while Ferre holds Enjolras loosely at the waist. They smile into the kiss, content and unhurried.

Courfeyrac can see the two of them in the first class he met them in, giving a presentation, their movements synchronised, each of them finishing the other’s sentences. He sees them in front of their friends at meetings, communicating through looks and glances rather than words.

They are stability, commitment, old souls coming together for the first time.

Then, before he realizes, they’ve broken apart, and Enjolras is throwing himself at Courfeyrac, unyielding. It’s nothing like how he was kissing Combeferre; it’s fast and dirty and impatient, Enjolras’s hand at the back of Courf’s neck while Courf tangles his fingers in Enjolras’s curls.

Courfeyrac remembers the two of them at a protest, on a makeshift stage on the university’s lawn two months ago, shouting their voices hoarse at a particularly excited crowd. He remembers turning to Enjolras and smiling, his chest heaving because he forgets to breathe when he speaks. Enjolras had smiled back, his eyes wilder than Courfeyrac had ever seen them, intoxicated with the fervour they were creating.

They are passion, mania, the first strike of the match against the flint.

And when it’s over, Courfeyrac’s lips are bitten red and his head is spinning, and he turns to Combeferre, and the two of them fall together perfectly.

Courfeyrac fits right into Combeferre’s arms, tilting up to meet his lips, the warmth and welcome he finds there overwhelming him.

He sees himself and Ferre under blankets on Ferre’s couch on the first cold day of the fall, warm mugs of apple cider in their hands and textbooks laying ignored on their laps as they watch a movie on TV with the volume turned down. Their hands were almost touching, and Courfeyrac remembers that being the first time he was aware of how much he wanted to close that gap between them.

They are comfort, friendship, finally coming home after a long day.

When Courfeyrac and Combeferre pull apart, the three of them are completely silent. Courfeyrac is afraid to speak, not wanting to ruin this.

“That was…” Enjolras finally says, trailing off because he can’t finish the thought.

“…something we should have done a long time ago,” Combeferre supplies, and suddenly Courfeyrac feels like his face is going to break because he’s smiling so big.

He clears his throat. “So… which of your bedrooms are we going to continue this in?”

Combeferre says “mine” at the same time that Enjolras says “his.”

Courfeyrac takes them both by the hand and leads them into Combeferre’s bedroom, thrilled to move onto whatever comes next.


End file.
